Clan of the Broken Banner -- Pt. 7

Clan of the Broken Banner Part 7

The ferry horn boomed as its engines began to churn, slowly pushing away from the dock and out into the sound.

Standing on the upper deck, looking into the churning green water, the words that seem to plague me come into my mind, repeating each syllable like a metronome.

I… am… not… crazy

But me standing on this ledge, waiting to meet someone that I thought I had only met in a dream, a very lucid, real dream, through eyes that weren’t my own…

“This is crazy,” I say to myself.

“We all say that,” replies a voice from behind me. I turn to face the voice, a deep rich voice with a Haitian accent, I think.

My hands clench into the metal railing behind me, knuckles and fingertips paling with my death grip.

“I’m sorry?” I say back, trying to ease the tenseness that must be present in my face as the large, Haitian man lets a large smile grow across his face.

“We all say that at first. I am the one who texted you last night.”

“And who are you exactly?”

His reply startles me, because I hear his voice in my head, not my ears as the smile suddenly disappears and he walks over to look across the sound, leaning on the railing.

“I cannot tell you my name, not yet anyway, and I don’t want to know yours. No matter what happens in the next half hour, you must remember that this is real, that this moment, that what I am going to tell you actually happened.”

“And how do I do that?”

The Haitian man pulls a pocket knife from inside his brown leather jacket and hands it to me.

“Make it quick,” he says shortly and quietly.

I think he means for me to cut myself. A dozen thoughts race through my head. What if the blade is poisoned, infected, and what if this would only mean the end of me. And then a more simple thought comes into my head and I cut a hole through the sleeve of my shirt, close the knife and hand it back to him.

“Good,” he says, the smile returning.

“I’m not crazy then?”

“No, you’re not. You my dear friend are gifted, and my clan has been searching for you for as long as the last of your bloodline disappeared.”

The Haitian man goes still as if he had spoken of a secret he wasn't allowed to tell, or rather told too soon. Right away, his voice enters my mind again.

“There is a war going on, larger than any conflict between clans you might read in a comic book, larger than wars against cities, larger than wars against religions or creeds, larger even then the wars between nations.

“The entirety of all modern day corruption since America’s colonization, all of the evils of deranged individuals, the wars between nations, the acts where people stated that they had simply lost control of themselves, or had given into the madness, all of it, from John Wilkes Booth to Hitler to Sadam Husein, and those who seemed to act out of insanity, all comes from one group that has laid in shadow.

“They always acted behind the scenes, tearing down all the good and planting, waiting, until the world completely falls under their control.

“This group has cautiously, carefully, methodically tried to put an end to you, focusing all of their attention to your demise. Those of my clan have been focusing on trying to save you and protect you from this unseen world.

“But the time has come for us to show you what is threatening not only you, but the rest of the modern world.”

The ferry horn booms again and I startle awake, my heart racing. The cold sweats and panicked breathing escalate and disappear as I remember where I am. I look down at my watch and see that only a half hour has passed since I sat on the ferry.

This last incident didn’t take too long, I think, and reach for my medication in my pocket. That is when I notice the tear in my sleeve, and realize that the lucid dream was a reality.

I begin to panic again, but not out of fear of my mental state…

Out of the fear that someone really is trying to kill me.

I smile.

I am not crazy.